Invitation To Be A Guest Blogger; Rain Sex Better Than Make-up Sex


So. It’s Friday and rainy and gloomy here to Austin, Texas, and I love it. We need rain and I need an excuse to stay inside, and I love rain anyway. Ever had sex in the rain?

One of my ex-wives, a woman of robust sexual proclivities who shall go herein unnamed, would get all hot and bothered with just the mention of rain in a weather forecast. We’d be watching the late news on TV and the weather guy would say, “… and there’s a ten-percent chance of light showers Saturday afternoon…” and the next thing I know I’m in the big shower stall with my eyes crossed.

Woman didn’t care about the temperature outside, wind velocities or any other inclemency attached to the rain. If it’s raining, she’s getting wet and laid. OK, wait. She’s getting laid wet. Actually, she used to say, “Just the thought of getting laid in the rain makes me wet,” so, maybe I should have said that, “If it’s raining, she’s getting wet and getting laid wetly.”

There was this one time we were out to the barn when a big Springtime thunderstorm rolled through. The barn had—still has—a full-metal jacket of corrugated roof and sides. She heard the pitty-pats of the first raindrops hit the side of the barn and she was all lathered up. “Come on, Mooner, let’s go the the pasture and screw in the grass.”

This was said with her hot breath on my neck and her hand jammed up and beneath the leg of my loose cotton shorts. I wear loose cotton shorts whenever I can. If I remember correctly, her hand was up the left leg of my shorts, and my initial reaction to those first pitter-pats of rain was a pecker expansion. We’d been married long enough at that moment for me to know how she got with inclement weather. In the time it took for her to squeeze me, me to issue a resultant moan and her to re squeeze, lightening flashed and lit up the dim barn and the thunder clapped and shook the metal covering almost simultaneously.

Now most of you are thinking the lightening would have been a discouragement, but you are wrong. “Oh, my God, Baby, let’s hurry outside,” she stammered with shaky breath. “You know how I love light shows.”

See, I told you. I dropped the pitchfork I was holding and grabbed her by the waist and kissed her hard. In that instant it started to hail. At first it was the small rock salt-sized pellets that I knew would make the pasture sex especially rewarding. But quickly the hail grew in size and was suddenly a waterfall of ice balls from golf-to-softball in size. The metal skin of the barn was like a thousand kettle drums as the hails pelted and hammered away.

“Hurry, Mooner,” she gasped and pulled me to the west wall where the wind was pushing the rain and hail in torrents. She quickly stripped and pulled me against her as she leaned against the metal.

“Holy shit,” she said when both the hail and her passion had passed. “That was better than using two vibrators.” When she said this her voice had a quiver like when you put a vibrator on your Adam’s apple. Of course she doesn’t have an Adam’s apple, I was using metaphor, but she did have a splendid neck. Creamy skin, and her big arteries would bulge and pulse when she was in heat.

Anyway, Rick “The Pompous Prick” Perry spoke to the right-wing Republicans gathering yesterday and promised to fight for the Tenth Amendment until his last breath. The Tenth is, of course, the “State’s Rights” amendment on the Bill of Rights, and what these silly fuckballs in state legislatures use to take away our rights in the name of family values.

His “last breath” comment caused me to cogitate a moment, and I ordered a sleeve of dry cleaners bags. I had the bags printed to say, “Executive Privilege Dry Cleaners- these bags are safe to put over your head.”

I’ll try to get someone to place them in Ricky’s closet.

Sister and Anna were over to dinner last night and we were discussing Lloyd’s coming visit and then the subject of gay rights. We all think that maybe it’s a good thing how the Christian right is pushing so hard and cruelly against gays and that the vitriolic nature of their attacks is awakening quiet America’s eyes. We’re starting to think that things are turning to the good on that front.

OK, stop. Somehow I have managed to kill the messenger and forgot to tell you what I intended to in this posting. If you check the prior posting to this one, you’ll notice that I managed to hang a photo of Yoda eating dandelions but not one of his acrobatic crappings. The weather is dismal and I can’t risk ruining the camera. So that pic will have to wait for the rain to pass—an event the weatherman says is likely a week away.

But, again, that’s good news since we need rain.

But here’s the deal. Brandini wrote about how smart it is to have/do guest bloggies at other guys’ webbers. I think that’s a great idea. Therefore, and herein requested, I am offering an open forum for anyfuckingbody to be a guest blogger. I’ll not censure, save for legalities and maybe dumb meannesses, and I’ll print every one of them.

That way we can cross-pollinate our readerships and gain critical masses. Come on, guys, step up to the plate! Maybe it’ll be you manana.

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7 Responses to “Invitation To Be A Guest Blogger; Rain Sex Better Than Make-up Sex”

  1. I want to do a guest post for you, but I either need to meet (and beat) Rick Perry first, or get a case of Carta Blanca beer into my hands.

    I like making things relevant, after all. Soon, Mooner. Soon….

  2. Brandini. I think it only appropriate for you to guest post as this was your idea. Talk, as they say, is cheap!

  3. Q says:

    I know Brandon would be the perfect guest blogger. His guest post on mine is still doing well. I’ll be looking for some guest posts when vacation time rolls around in a couple of months, so I will send an invite, Mooner!

    As for this post, I generally go another direction when I see lightening and hail. LOL! That was wild.

  4. bj says:

    I’m glad you changed directions in the middle of this post. I was beginning to think you had begun writing one a’ them “Bodice Ripper” novels like Ms. baby reads. You know the ones I’m talking about? They all have a pitcher of Fabio or his brother on the cover asqueezin’ some woman who LOOKS like she don’t want her bodice ripped off …. but ain’t REALLY tryin’ ta get LOOSE! Anyway, I was glad that you went in another direction …. I was just starting to remember that case of Ivory Soap you left ……

  5. Q. I think you would make a great guest speaker as well. You thoughtful perspectives would be a refreshing change here in Loonyland.

    Beej. I don’t know where to start with you on this one. First, as a man in possession of a working pecker, I think about sex three hundred times per day in each of the thenty, ot so, trains of thoughts in my ADHD-addled brain. That’s an average of 7,000 sex thoughts every day, each of which is interrupted before its conclusion.

    Hence my need for copious quantities of Ivory soap.

    But you need to guest host some stories here as yourself and other characters. I’d love to hear you write as Callistus, the crazy old fucker who was like the fifteenth Pope on the way back machine. I heard a Catholic woman telling another that Callistus might have been the best Pope ever, “I mean E-V-ER!” the woman said. Then she said, “We just don’t know anything about him.”

    I foud it interesting that the best ever Pope is one that even the Catholics don’t know anything about. To me, that makes perfect sense.

  6. bj says:

    Like I done told you wunct …. THIS HERE? …. ain’t no blog! Blogging is “Grafitti with punctuation” … Bloggin’ is what WE do. YOU, Sir, are a writer … and a very imaginative writer at that! I’ll have to check up on ol’ Callistus, but, I don’t want anyone to read what I post on MY page …. let alone piss off YOUR readers over to here with my dribble shit ….. Squatlo “The Meek” (, on the other hand …..

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